


Port Pleasant

by buckingfucky (Furious_Winter)



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Mob, Character Death, Drug Use, M/M, Period-Typical Racial Slurs, Slow Burn, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-25 18:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furious_Winter/pseuds/buckingfucky
Summary: After more than a decade of faithfully serving his country, secret agent Steve has begun to feel like he’s missing something, but he’s not sure what. So, when Director Fury offers him a stateside mission protecting a high-profile man in Port Pleasant, the nation’s capital of indulgence, he seizes the opportunity. What he doesn’t expect is that this man, James Barnes, is also a crime lord in the middle of a power struggle with a rival mob. James is ruthless, troubled and his past is shrouded in dark rumors. This causes Steve to question where the line of morality between duty and honor should be drawn as he learns more about James; someone who cares not for money or power, but instead and above all else seeks justice for those he loves, whatever means necessary.





	1. Prologue/Don't Trust Anyone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [almostabeauty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostabeauty/gifts).



> Dedicated to the dearest almostabeauty for giving me the idea for this fic and encouraging me to write it. I luff you!

“Benjamin Davies. Of course he’d send _you.”_ Heinrich Zemo’s voice echoed through the empty warehouse. 

Ignoring Zemo’s scowl, Benny lit up a cigarette, his gait casual. “Don’t take it personal. The mayor don’t deal with henchies.”

Zemo gritted his teeth, his accent thick as his black mustache, “This matter requires his attention.”

“And it’s got his attention.” Benny shrugged. “The fuck you think he sent _me_ for?” He glanced about impatiently; the warehouse was completely dark, save for the streaks of morning sunlight coming in through the high windows. “Where’s Maximoff’s guy?”

“Late. Like you.”

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Benny smiled. “You wanna complain? Just walk your ass on up into City Hall, see how that works out for ya.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a time. Benny preferred it this way when dealing with Schmidt’s men; if they weren’t talking business, there was no point in talking. As he finished his cigarette and stamped it out, he noticed a scuff on his left shoe and made a mental note to have them shined before returning to city hall. He began to reach into his coat for another smoke, and the doors at the opposite end of the building flew open. 

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Jack Harrison asked as he approached them, looking cautiously at Benny. Clad in brown trousers two sizes too large and a faded blue button down that swallowed him up, he brushed his dark bangs from his eyes. 

“Mr. Zemo Sr. has brought an issue to the attention of the mayor.” Benny cocked his head. “I’m here to make sure things get worked out in a... diplomatic manner.”

The color drained from Jack’s young face. “Is there a problem?”

“Nothin’ we can’t sort out, Mr. Harrison.”

“Where’s the shipment?” Zemo calmly asked.

“It’s out back. In the carriage, like usual.” Jack looked him up and down, and then peered behind him. “Where’s the money?”

“There is no money.” Zemo laughed. “This one’s on you.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Is this a joke?”

“Ain’t nobody jokin’ around, son. They know you been stompin’ on the goods.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack shook his head, incredulous. “It comes straight from the docks.”

“Yeah,” Benny sniffed, “except it don’t.”

“Dr. Zola tested the last batch. It was cut.”

“And I checked the logs. The boat left yesterday afternoon.” Jack stared at them both, and Benny almost felt sorry for him. Stepping forward, Benny put a hand on his shoulder and quietly spoke, “Look, kid. I get it. You’re just tryin’ to make a little extra on the side, it happens. But you don’t wanna fuck around with Schmidt’s crew.”

Jack’s bottom lip trembled. “It won’t- it won’t happen again, I promise. Please, I’ll make it up to you!” Jack turned to Zemo. “I just need the money for this one. If I don’t turn up the cash Maximoff will… he’ll-” he stammered.

Benny lit up another cigarette. “Good. So you can return to your boss and explain why you’re comin’ back empty handed.”

Zemo turned to him, scowling. “You’re letting him off that easy?”

“What do you want me to do?” He raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Kill him?”

“No!” Jack began to panic, frantically rushing up to Benny and grabbing at his coat. “Please don’t kill me! Just- just take the blow, it’s fine, I swear to God I’ll make it right! Just please, _please,_ you don’t have to…” He tightly shut his eyes and shook his head, regret clear on his features. “Just let me go, and it won’t happen again.”

“Relax, kid.” Benny pushed him away. “Ain’t nobody killin’ nobody.”

Zemo pulled out his pistol and shot Jack in the stomach once, twice, three times. 

As the kid crumbled to the floor with a whimper, Benny sighed. This was precisely what he’d been sent here to prevent. “You understand what you just did, Heinrich?”

“Yes.” Looking pleased with himself, Zemo put away his pistol and straightened his suit jacket. “I sent a message.”

Benny watched Jack as he lay on the ground, coughing and sputtering. There was no point in letting him suffer. “Goddammit. Sorry, kid.” He pulled out his revolver and shot him in the heart. Almost immediately, Jack stilled. Tucking away his revolver, he rubbed at his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do next. They didn’t have a contingency plan for this. “Barnes is gonna flip his shit.”

“Barnes is a coward. He may throw one of his tantrums, but everything will be fine.”

_“Fine?”_ Benny scoffed. “He’s doped out of his wits half the time. You’ll be lucky if he only cuts ties with you.”

Zemo sneered at that. “He won’t. He needs us.”

“And you need him, or did that little detail slip your mind?” He let his head fall back, still unable to fathom the situation. He needed to think clearly, but could only focus on the worst that could happen. “Jesus, you fuckin’ Krauts are all psychos.”

“And you Yanks are too soft.” Zemo stepped over Jack’s body and headed for the doors at the far end, stopping halfway there. “He couldn’t have been working alone,” he called out. “You need to find out who they were and put them in order.”

“Sure, just lemme ask him and — oh, wait.” He pointed to Jack’s body. “You fucking _killed him.”_

Zemo nodded. “I trust you’ll let the mayor know that the wrong has been put right.”

The mayor was the least of Benny’s worries. Lady Barnes would take this as an act of war. And James? Unpredictable. He tossed the butt of his cigarette into the growing pool of blood on the floor, and it sizzled. As he turned to leave, he cringed at what lay ahead. Their plan had backfired. In order to prevent this from getting out of hand, the mayor would need to call in a favor much sooner than they’d expected.

“Back to City Hall?” his driver asked as he climbed into the carriage. 

He pulled out a cigarette and lit up. “Nah, gotta make a stop at Barnes Palace first.”

“Feeling lucky?” the man asked over his shoulder. 

Benny glared at him.

***

In the distance, Port Pleasant seemed to glow against the black sky, vibrant and alive. Although a notorious city of sin and corruption, Steve couldn’t help but marvel at its beauty. Many cities, even smaller ones, now had the luxury of electricity, but Port Pleasant was said to have it everywhere; every home, every building, even the streets looked golden at night. The train’s air whistle sang, and Steve checked his watch, its gears softly turning and clicking. He would be arriving earlier than expected, and he idly wondered how long he would have to wait for his contact at the station. 

With a groan, he stood, stretched, and pulled his suitcase from the adjacent seat of his private cabin. As he made his way to the end of the car, Director Fury’s warning sounded in his ear, _“Don’t trust anyone.”_ The implication was, of course, that he would still trust the man he’d been sent to meet upon his arrival. 

The train finally slowed, and as it crawled to a stop, other passengers queued up behind him. They were few at this late hour, but all as eager as he to reach their destinations. The door let out a steamy hiss as it slid open, and Steve stepped out onto the station platform, immediately sighting a man in a tweed coat leaning unconcernedly against one of the support columns, a cigarette dangling from his lips and holding a sign in his hands with neatly written letters, _Rogers._ As Steve approached him, the man straightened up. Tossing his cigarette aside, he said in a smarmy, thick Jersey accent, “Right this way, sir.”

He followed the man out of the station and to a horseless carriage, already running with its engine puttering erratically. He opened the back passenger door for Steve, and then took his suitcase and put it in the boot as Steve climbed inside. Although Steve had never before been inside a horseless carriage, the interior wasn’t unlike a normal one. The only exception was a glass divider that separated the driver from the passenger seats in the back. 

The man got into the carriage, settled into the seat opposite him and lit up another cigarette as the driver started them off. He took a drag and offered, “You smoke?”

“No, thanks.”

“Good for you. I don’t care what they say, I think these things’ll kill ya.” He extended a hand. “Name’s Benny. The mayor won’t always be able to meet with you, so when that happens,” he grinned as Steve shook his hand, “I’m your guy.”

“It’s good to meet you.” Steve nodded courteously. 

“This your first time in Port Pleasant?” he asked. 

“Yes, it is.”

Benny knocked on the glass with the back of his hand and shouted to the driver. “Take us through the Uptown!” He turned his attention back to Steve and told him with some enthusiasm, “It’s faster to take the underpass, but if you’ve never been here before you _gotta_ see Uptown.”

“Are you from here?” Steve asked. 

Smiling, smoke came out in puffs as he spoke, “Born and raised in the Lowlands.”

“So this is your turf?” Lowlands Terminal 2 was the station at which he’d arrived. 

“Yessir. But don’t let the name fool ya, it’s one of the nicest residential districts in Port Pleasant.”

Steve gazed out the window, watching darkened buildings as they passed by them. “I knew Port Pleasant was a large city, but I never realized it was so sprawling. I just pictured a coastal Manhattan Island.”

“It’s pretty big.” Benny pulled on his cigarette before speaking again. “We’re entering the Business District now. It’s divided into two parts, Uptown and Downtown. The Lowlands are the southernmost district of Port Pleasant. North of that you’ve got Downtown, where we are now, and out to the west the Southern Slums.”

“The slums.” Steve sighed, thinking of all the time he’d spent in slums across Europe and Asia. “I guess every city has them.”

“Yeah, but Port Pleasant ain’t like other cities. Even the slums ain’t so bad. We always tell the tourists, ‘stick to the coast and you’ll be fine,’ but all the best food is in the slums. I’m partial to the Southern Slums m’self; it’s predominantly Asian. The Western Slums is mostly African and Middle Eastern, and the Northern Slums is European.”

Steve gave him a disappointed look. “It’s segregated?”

“Just about everyone you meet here is either an immigrant or the child of immigrants, Mr. Rogers.” Benny looked sternly at him, as if he’d encroached on a touchy subject. “When people come to a new city, a new country, they look for somethin’ that feels like home. My parents are Scottish, but they got lucky enough to bring me up in the Lowlands.”

“My mother was Irish.” He attempted to make amends should he have offended. “Came to New York while she was still carrying me.”

Benny winced. “Irish, huh? Nobody’s perfect.” He pointed out the window, “Downtown is where you get the brunt of the tourists, not wealthy enough to afford a casino suite, but not so poor they can’t afford a vacation. Most of the hotels are along the coast, beachfront and all.” He took a couple puffs from his cigarette. “You got mom-and-pop shops, decent eats, noisy bars, cheap brothels, the usual. And now we’re gettin’ to Uptown.”

True to legend, the streets really did look golden at night. Running parallel to the boardwalk, Main Street bustled with life even at the late hour. Five and six story buildings lined the sidewalks, lit up with flashing signs and more light bulbs than Steve could count. Hotels, casinos, bars, restaurants, brothels and more, full of patrons and noise and music; Steve felt he’d entered another world. 

Benny pointed out some of the big-name establishments as they passed through. _The Iron Lady_ was the newest restaurant to open, run by the wife of a local industrial tycoon. _Silmarillion,_ a bar of some variety, was said to have the best ale and smokeables on the coast. Further down stood Barnes Palace; one of the oldest and most popular hotel casinos in Port Pleasant, it was newly renovated and towered over the competition. Its magnificent, medieval-inspired facade lit up in white and gold, black and red, gave an air of both intimidation and invitation. 

Steve listened as Benny talked, wide-eyed and gazing out the window until the driver took a turn down into a wide tunnel with four lanes. Benny explained, “This is the underpass. They built it a few years ago so the rich folk wouldn’t have to travel through the slums on their way to work every goddamn day. It’s convenient when it isn’t flooded. Stark’s working on that.”

“Where are we going?” Steve asked, feeling uneasy in the confined space. 

“The Highlands, the _nice_ residential district.” Benny relaxed in his seat. “Port Pleasant is laid out like a lot of big cities. There’s the heart — the Business, Bureaucratic and Industrial Districts — lower class housing and slums surround them, and the people that can afford to commute live on the outskirts, away from the hustle and bustle.”

Benny finished his cigarette and pulled out another as the carriage came to a stop outside of a dark, three-story mansion. “But here’s where our little journey ends. Hope you got all of that.” He winked and then motioned for Steve to get out. “Just go up to the front door and knock. We’ll send you your things. And remember, if you ever need me, just telephone the mayor’s office and ask for Benny. I might not get to you right away, but just be patient.”

After exiting the carriage, it puttered off into the night and Steve took in his surroundings. Nestled at the center of a vast lot on a hill, Steve couldn’t see any light coming from the mansion nor any of the other buildings sprinkled about. He pushed open the heavy wrought iron gate at the estate’s entrance, feeling like the groan it emitted could’ve awakened the dead. Making his way quickly, he glanced about at the various shrubs and statues dotting the lawn, menacing and crude in the darkness. Arriving at the front door, he raised his hand to knock when it opened suddenly. 

“Monsieur Rogers.” A slim, plain, expressionless woman wearing a dressing gown and holding a candle stood before him. “Right this way.”

She ushered him inside to the foyer. In the dim light, Steve could make out a long hallway running beside the bottom of a quarter turn staircase. A large chandelier cast fanciful shadows along the ceiling and intricately designed gray wallpaper; glimpses of scenic paintings and portraits hung neatly about. He followed her up the staircase to a room on the second floor where she turned to him. “Mayor Pierce is expecting you.” She opened the door, and he stepped inside. 

“Steven Rogers.” In the light from the lantern on his desk, he looked almost frail as he stood. “So good of you to come on such short notice. Come, sit.”

The hardwood floors quietly groaned beneath his feet as he crossed the room to shake his hand, and Steve took a seat in the plush chair opposite him. “Director Fury told me the matter was urgent.”

“It is, it is, but we’ll get to that. How was your flight?”

“I took the train.”

“From the capital? I assumed you’d take an airship.” Pierce furrowed his brow, but then broke into a grin. “Is Nick cutting back on the budget again?”

Steve gave a half-hearted laugh. “I suppose so, sir.”

“Understandable.” The mayor flipped open a file on his desk, and Steve could see his picture paper-clipped to the first page. “You illegally enlisted in the Army at the tender age of sixteen, and after boot camp you were pulled for a special training program.”

He always blushed whenever his questionable enlistment was brought up. “That’s right, sir.”

“You excelled in many areas, and by your eighteenth birthday you were already being sent abroad on…” he flipped through a dozen pages that were entirely blacked out, “well, your assignments are classified, to say the least.” Looking back up to him, Pierce squinted. “And how much did Nick tell you about _this_ assignment?”

_Quite a bit,_ Steve thought. Fury had warned him that this assignment wouldn’t be like others in that he wouldn’t officially be working for Fury at all. He’d been told that he would likely be required to do things that would go against his nature, and Fury stressed the importance that he play the part until he received further instructions from him. Until then, he was to do whatever Pierce told him. “He said I’d be providing protection for an individual in danger.”

“That’s correct.” Pierce nodded. “I don’t expect it will be any trouble for you, but I’ve found it difficult to hold up my end of an agreement. You’ve heard of the Barnes family?”

“Heard of them, yes, sir.” Their notorious reputation preceded them.

Pierce leaned back in his seat, bringing his hands together as if he was praying. “Not long ago, Winifred Barnes came to me with a certain,” he hesitated, “proposition. She fears for her son’s life, and as mayor, it’s not in my best interests to turn down the most powerful woman in the city. But it’s been frustrating, to say the least.”

“How so?” Steve queried and asked a rather pointless question. “Is her son in trouble?”

Chuckling, Pierce reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a case of cigarettes. “Well, he’s always in trouble. Tell me, how much do you know about Port Pleasant?”

Steve mulled over some of the things Benny had told him in the carriage. “It’s a tourist destination. Gambling, brothels, and every other vice in the book.”

“That’s right.” He lit a cigarette and started to put away his case, but stopped short of his jacket, holding it out to him. “You smoke?”

“No,” Steve shook his head. “Never liked the taste.”

Mayor Pierce put it away and went on, “But it wasn’t always that way. Some thirty years ago, when I was first elected mayor, we were just like dozens of other harbor towns up and down the coast. We had plenty of work, but the inflow of immigrants was more than our economy could sustain. It wasn’t until our fair nation elected a Puritanical president and pushed some legislation through congress that we began our climb to greatness.” He took a long drag of his cigarette and reclined in his chair, looking fondly at nothing in particular. “Prohibition was good for business. Our harbors weren’t nearly as heavily regulated as ports in, say, New York or Virginia. Speakeasies began popping up, and with a little negotiation, we could turn a blind eye to them. And everyone was happy. The city could grow its infrastructure with the extra money, the citizens could drink until their bellies burst, the shipyards saw an increase in traffic, more jobs were created,” he sighed, “those truly were the good old days.”

“But then prohibition came to an end,” Steve offered.

“Yes, not long after the state legalized gambling. And around that time, I became good friends with a brilliant immigrant named George Barnes and his wife, Winifred. They’d owned a juice joint just down the street from where Barnes Palace stands today, and with the money they’d earned, they opened their casino.” A cloud fell over his face. “For the first time, Winifred sold whiskey legally.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Tit for tat.” He exhaled a stream of smoke and cleared his throat. “In order to make up for the loss of hush money from speakeasies, the city had to tax alcohol and gambling quite heavily. Rome wasn’t built in a day, Mr. Rogers, and it certainly wasn’t cheap. We were close to landing a deal with Stark Industrial to build a number of new factories, but in order to do that they needed a loan. Seeing as no bank would touch them after their bankruptcy, they needed a hardy investor. It’s a little-known secret.”

Steve shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Howard Stark revolutionized the power industry.”

“And we gave him a place to do it. I was able to convince George that the real money to be made wasn’t through fancy casinos, sandy beaches and open bars. No, now that the people could drink and gamble without fear of repercussion, they wanted something else, something more exciting.”

“Prostitution?”

“No,” he scoffed, “cocaine and opium.”

Steve blinked at that, wondering what was the nature of Pierce’s relationship with Fury.

“I know, I know.” Pierce seemed to sense his confusion. “George had the same reaction at first. But I was able to persuade him in time. You see, if there’s a demand for a product or service, one way or another a supplier will find a way to provide it to the consumer. This is the land of the free, Mr. Rogers, and it’s always been one of my deeply held beliefs that governments have no business telling the people what they can and can’t do with their bodies — consenting adults should have the right to live and enjoy their lives at their discretion, so long as they don’t infringe upon the rights of others.”

“That’s a nice idea, mayor, but you don’t see any problems stemming from that?” Steve was still trying to wrap his head around it. “What about addiction? Overdose? Those have long been problems.”

Pierce brushed away his concerns with a wave of his hand. “Issues like that have a way of working themselves out. I’ll remind you, alcohol is addictive, too, but just because some Joe in the slums wants to waste his life away at the lip of the bottle doesn’t mean that you or I shouldn’t be able to enjoy a drink from time to time.” He tilted his head. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Steve took a deep breath and looked down to the floor. “Why are you telling me all of this?” 

“I’m just trying to help you understand why you’re needed here, Mr. Rogers. You see, Port Pleasant is like a giant house of cards. It’s beautiful, magnificent even, but also delicate and fragile. And if you were to remove one of the cards at the bottom, one of the pillars helping to hold the whole thing up, it would crumble.” He took one last puff from his cigarette and put it out. “Five years ago, that nearly happened with the passing of George Barnes.”

“But it didn’t,” Steve ventured, “the Barnes family business was passed on to his son.”

“Something I’ll always be grateful for.” Pierce nodded solemnly. “James left Port Pleasant when he was eighteen and went overseas. When George died, I feared that his connections had died with him. He and Winifred had an arrangement wherein she knew nothing about the illegal facets of their operation. So, when James returned and took control, I learned a lesson. Never let a man become so powerful that he’s irreplaceable; and if he does become too powerful, be sure to have others ready to take his place when he falls.”

“You contradicted yourself there, mayor. A man is either irreplaceable or he’s not.”

“That’s where you come in, Mr. Rogers. For the time being, James Barnes is irreplaceable. And his biggest rival is a man named Johann Schmidt.”

Steve leaned forward. “Of Hydra?”

“None other.” Pierce rolled his eyes. “Although, Schmidt wants to go rogue. Wants to cut ties with the organization. I don’t really care one way or the other, but James stands in his way. The Barnes’ control the docks; the trafficking, anyway. They bring in the goods, and then sell them to Schmidt’s crew for distribution abroad. Schmidt thinks that if he can cut out the middleman, he can formally end his affiliation with Hydra. And he’s probably right.”

The pieces were finally beginning to fall into place. “You don’t want that to happen. He’ll be too powerful.”

“That,” the mayor allowed, “and he and I do not share the same rapport as I do with James and Winifred.”

“What’s your plan, then? You want me to keep James Barnes alive, but where does it end?”

“That remains to be seen.” Pierce sighed and got up from his chair, walking over to the window and pulling open the curtain. The sun was beginning to rise, and the skies were dashed with gentle shades of blue of pink. “Ever since George’s death, the situation has continually escalated, and it’s never been quite as dire as it is now.” He looked over his shoulder at Steve. “You’ve come at a very crucial time, Mr. Rogers. For the near future, my biggest fear is that things will get out of control, and everything I’ve worked so hard for over the last three decades will turn to ashes before my eyes.”

When Pierce said nothing further, Steve hesitated. It baffled him that Director Fury would’ve even entertained the idea of sending him here for this, that he’d be protecting a drug lord. “Alright. What next?” he asked with resignation.

Pierce gave an easy laugh and turned back to him. “For a moment there, I was beginning to wonder if you might back out.” He straightened out his suit and returned to his desk, leaning against it. “There’s a carriage waiting for you outside. It will take you to a small diner in Uptown where you’ll meet with the Barnes’ consigliere. Think of it as an interview. If you’re deemed good enough for the job, they’ll take you to meet with James and Lady Winifred.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “And what if I’m not deemed good enough?”

Pierce gave him a condescending grin. “Oh, I think the two of you will find a way to work things out. And just so we’re clear, they know nothing of your history. Your affiliation with Director Fury is nonexistent insofar as your presence in this city is concerned. You’ll gain the trust of James, and you’ll accomplish that by doing whatever he tells you without question. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely.” Steve stood and shook his hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mayor Pierce.”

“Likewise.” Steve began making his way to the door when Pierce called out to him, “Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Rogers.”

He stopped and turned. “Yes, sir?”

“Many people are easily taken in by James and Winifred, but don’t be fooled.” His features darkened with warning, “They are cold blooded, Mr. Rogers. James’ sister, Rebecca, disappeared shortly after his return following George’s death. An investigation turned up nothing substantial, but rumor has it that James killed her in order to smooth out his transition to power. And Winifred,” he shook his head, “as much as I hate to believe it, many implicate her in the death of her husband. Watch your back, Steven. They may seem likeable enough, but they are truly _evil_ people, and they will stop at nothing to realize their ambitions.”

Steve took a moment and then nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The woman who’d let him in, now dressed in housekeeper’s attire, waited as he exited Pierce’s office. Wordlessly, she led him out to the front door with nothing more than a curtsy as she held it open for him. Just past the gate, he saw a simple horse-drawn carriage waiting for him. Quickly, he crossed the lawn and once inside the carriage let his head fall back. Fury had assured him that this assignment would be unlike his others; stateside, for one, but also far less dangerous. However, Steve hadn’t been given any clue that he’d be protecting a criminal, much less a mob boss in the middle of a power struggle with Hydra over drug trafficking. 

_Be careful what you wish for,_ he remembered his mother telling him many years ago. 

When the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Silverware’s Diner, Steve got out and checked his watch. It was just past five a.m. and he was beginning to feel weary; he shrugged it off with a roll of his shoulders. Inside, the diner was peaceful with only the quiet chatter of a few early risers. Scents of breakfasts foods greeted him, but he hardly felt hungry. His eyes scanned the booths, and he spotted the person, the woman as it turned out, that he was supposed to meet. Seated with her back turned to him, she puffed at a black and bronze cigarette stick and stayed eerily still. 

When he reached her and she looked up, she seemed almost as surprised as he was, but quickly regained her composure. She gestured to the booth seat opposite her, “Have a seat.” 

Steve did so, and a waitress immediately came up to take his order. “Just a coffee. Black.” He smiled kindly, and then returned his gaze to the woman across from him. “It’s been a while, Natasha.”

She spoke coldly and under her breath, “What the fuck are _you_ doing here?”

He couldn’t help but grin. It felt almost reassuring to see a familiar face, even one with which he shared a colorful history. “I could ask the same of you.”

Natasha leaned forward. “Cut the bullshit and answer the goddamn question, Rogers.”

“Pierce sent me,” he answered simply.

Raising an eyebrow, she shook her head, confounded. “You expect me to believe that?”

“No, not at all.” The waitress brought him his mug, he thanked her, and then took a careful sip. “And you? What business does a Chekist have in Port Pleasant?”

Taking a moment to answer, she stared him down as she took a long drag. “I’m no longer in their employ.” 

“I see that.” Steve smirked. “Was the Kremlin getting a little stale for your taste, or was it something else?”

Idly running her fingers across a golden bracelet and then putting out her cigarette, she answered, “The pay is better.”

“You were never interested in money.”

“Neither were you,” she pulled out another cigarette, “but here you are. Smoke?” She offered him one. 

“No,” he nodded in appreciation, “thanks.”

That brought a knowing smile out of her. “Some things never change.”

“That’s true,” Steve agreed as she struck a match, “you’re just as charming as ever.”

“And you’re still full of American arrogance.” She lit her cigarette and her tone fell serious, “So Fury sent you. Why?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “From what I can gather, Pierce called in a favor. They’re old friends.”

“Nick doesn’t do favors.” Natasha squinted, thinking. “And this isn’t an oversight. He knows we have a history.”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe he thought you’d be more trusting of a friendly face.”

She grimaced, and slowly ran her tongue along her front teeth. “That’s funny, Rogers. I don’t care why he sent _you._ Why send anyone at all? What interest does Fury have in Port Pleasant?”

“Johann Schmidt. Hydra.” Steve could think of a dozen reasons. “A corrupt government, unregulated imports, blow, poppy,” he took a swig of coffee, “not to mention organized crime. It’s a wonder they don’t get more trouble from the feds.”

“Pierce pays them off.”

“He’s really got those kinds of connections?”

“He got you, didn’t he?”

Snickering, Steve pushed his mug to the side. “I guess that means I’ve got the job.”

“We’ll see.” She put out her cigarette and stood. “You’ve still got to win over the godmother and her darling progeny.”

He pulled a dollar from his pocket and dropped it on the table as he got up from the booth, not bothering to hide his sarcasm, “I hear they’re wonderful people.”

She turned to walk off and called over her shoulder, “You have no idea.”

When they stepped out onto the street, the scent of the ocean hit Steve for the first time since his arrival; and if he listened hard enough, he could swear he heard the waves. The beach lay just past the buildings on the far side of the street, and after each block he could see down an alley to the boardwalk and Delaware Bay beyond it, barely visible in the gentle morning light. They continued this way, silently, for a time until Steve’s interests returned to Natasha. He struggled to remember the last time he’d seen her. 

“You never told me, how does one go from being a spy for the Russian government to working for a crime lord?” _And is there a difference,_ he wondered.

She kept her gaze ahead. “You’re right. I never told you.”

Steve smiled at that. “It’s been at least a decade since I’ve even heard mention of you.” The thought had sometimes troubled him. They may have had their glaring differences, but he liked her. “I figured you were dead.”

“I’m always happy to disappoint.”

“And how did your friends in the GPU take it?”

Natasha stopped and sighed. “I never really worked for any Russian secret police agencies. I was a double agent.” Giving him a skeptical, sideways glance, she asked, “You knew that, right?”

Halting beside her, Steve blinked in confusion. “No.” He cocked his head. “Who?”

She paused and looked away. “Hydra.”

“You were a Hydra agent?!” He couldn’t hide his shock. “Natasha… why?”

Turning suddenly, she began walking again. “People like me, they start us young.”

Following suit, he measured his next question. Lowering his voice, he asked, “And now?”

“And now I’m answering for it.” She cleared her throat, “There aren’t many who leave Hydra and live to talk about it. It’s a price I’m still paying.”

Steve followed into step with her, taking the cue to change the subject. “Do you like it here?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s alright. I don’t have to deal with cocky American spies anymore.” She glanced his way. “Not until now, anyway.”

“I’m not here as a spy, Natasha.” He meant to clarify, but then found offense, adding, “And I’m not cocky.”

She laughed haughtily. “Right.”

“I’m not!” He grinned, turning his palms up.

“Maybe ‘cocky’ isn’t the right word.” She adjusted her coat as she increased her gait. “If I’m being honest, you were still pretty green and scared shitless. It was almost cute.”

He let out a mock gasp, _“Cute?”_

“Okay, fine, you weren’t cute _or_ cocky. You were just a dick.”

Steve gazed at her fondly.

“And you were good. Really good.” She reached into her purse and took out her cigarette stick. “It makes me wonder why you’re really here. It’s not like Fury doesn’t have better things to do with you.”

Steve didn’t trust her, just as he was sure she didn’t trust him. Still, it didn’t feel like giving away too much when he answered, “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“Is that what this is?” She struck a match and lit up, “You needed a vacation, so you came _here?”_

“It’s not a vacation.” He didn’t mean to sound somber. “You know how it is, Nat. There’s always more to be done, more that you can do to serve God and country.” Steve reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re not machines.” She stopped again, hesitated, and then looked at him. “Right?” he asked, seeking some kind of reassurance. 

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “When did it happen?”

“When did what happen?”

“You almost died and it got you thinking.” She resumed her pace and his hand fell away, forlorn. “That’s the worst thing you can do, you know. Think. Once you start doing that, it’s all downhill. Suddenly, it’s not just targets and objectives.”

_We’re not all like you,_ he thought, but it wasn’t true. The years since he’d last seen her didn’t matter. Natasha still understood him better than most ever would. Steve had come close to death more times than he cared to remember, but those instances had never shaken him. It wasn’t until he’d held a dying woman in his arms, begging him to take her infant to safety, that he’d begun to feel any kind of burden. She was the wife of a tyrant, and her son the heir to a throne — a throne her child would’ve surely been killed for. 

Then, some of his own mother’s last words had rung in his ears, _‘Find peace and happiness, my son, and find love. I promise you, these are life’s greatest treasures.’_

Steve pushed his mother’s voice from his head, “It’s _all_ targets and objectives, Natasha. Peace, happiness, even love. Isn’t that what we’re fighting for? The end to the fighting? Didn’t you ever get tired?”

“No,” her words came out with a puff of smoke, “I never got tired.”

“But here you are.”

“But here I am,” she halted him, “and in two minutes we’re going to walk into Barnes Palace like we’ve never met before today.”

Steve looked up and realized that they were across the street from their destination.

“You’ll tell Bucky and Winifred that you’re the best man for the job, that you’ll protect Bucky with your life, and that he will be the only thing you’re fighting for.” She took a step towards him, bringing her face to his. “You’ll tell him that, and you’ll mean it, because God as my witness, Rogers, I will kill you where you stand.”

“You don’t believe in God.”

“I believe in me.”

Steve stared into her eyes, daring, until it became uncomfortable. “Who the hell is Bucky?” he asked.

Natasha blinked as if she didn’t understand, and then stepped back out of his space. “James Barnes.”

“You call him ‘Bucky?’”

“Yes. His middle name is Buchanan, but his father and sister used to call him ‘Bucky.’” Taking one last drag of her cigarette, she removed it from her cigarette holder and threw it on the ground, putting it out with the toe of her shoe. “I wouldn’t recommend calling him that, though. Not unless he tells you to.” She beckoned him as she started to cross the street, “Come on. Better not keep them waiting any longer.”

Steve followed her past the casino to the hotel entrance. Stepping into the lobby, he found it difficult not be impressed; the white marble floors, vaulted ceiling, and crimson walls decorated with classical art reminded him of something one might find in a high-end hotel in Paris or London. Behind the long, cherrywood stained desk stood a young woman with dark hair.

“Maria.” Natasha nodded to her. 

“Going up to see Mr. and Lady Barnes, Miss Romanov?” She smiled widely at them and it almost felt sincere.

“None other.”

“I’ll give them a ring to let them know you’re here.”

“Thank you.” They walked past to an elevator, and the brass gate easily slid open with hardly a sound. Closing it behind them, she then pulled a lever and the platform began to raise with a steamy hiss. Arriving at the sixth floor, they stepped off and began down a long, dimly lit hallway with thick, red padded carpet and dark wooden walls to a door at the end from which Steve could hear a muffled argument. Just as they arrived, the voices grew louder and the door flew open.

“You fucked up, and you know it!” came an angry shout from within the room as a blonde man, red-faced with anger, pushed by them. 

“Pietro…” Natasha reached out to stop him, but he kept on. 

The voice echoed down the hall after him, “This on you, Maximoff! Take some goddamn responsibility for once!” 

Next, a large, rough-looking man stepped out with a groan. He gave Natasha a weary look and then turned his gaze to Steve, his eyes running up and down his body. “This the new guy?” he asked her. 

“Most likely.”

“Oh, this one’s pretty.” With a dark laugh, he gave Steve two firm but playful slaps on the cheek. “The boss is gonna like you.”

Natasha ignored the comment, “What the hell just happened, Rumlow?”

Raising his eyebrows, he shrugged and shook his head. “Somebody’s gotta take the blame.” With that, he walked off.

Her jaw dropped open, and she charged into the room, stopping just in the middle. Steve slowly followed in behind her, and quickly took in his surroundings. Directly opposite the door sat a cluttered desk, and a man who Steve presumed to be James Barnes stood behind it, his eyes locked on Natasha and his jaw set. Behind him, a large bay window flooded the room with morning light. To the left of him, an older woman in a modest, flowing dress stood with her arms crossed and a nearly-empty champagne flute in her hand. No doubt Winifred, her expression was stoic. 

James said dryly, “Good of you to finally join us, Nat.”

“What the hell was that about?” She made no attempt to keep her voice down, gesturing behind her. 

Immediately, James shouted back, “You want me to believe he had no reason to be suspicious?!”

“And what was he supposed to do about it?!” She took a step forward. “Come to you with a hunch?!”

He started before she finished, “Oh, please! You’re taking his side, too?!”

“The only sides in this are ours and theirs, Bucky. You can’t do this, not now!” She turned around and, placing her hand on her forehead, she huffed. “Goddammit, you’re such a _fucking idiot!_ This is exactly what they want!”

James slammed his hand on the desk, making most of its contents jump. “What they want is to see all of us _dead,_ Natasha!” He straightened up, outright screaming now. “All of us! Don’t think they’ll give you a free pass, doll, just because-”

“Children.” Winifred’s voice cut through James’ like a knife. He glared at her, but she held his gaze with poise. “It’s been a long night for everyone.” She downed the rest of the contents of her glass and walked calmly to James’ desk, resting it just on the edge. “Natasha, dear.” She smiled warmly. “You’ve yet to introduce us to our guest.”

It was then that James first appeared to notice Steve’s presence. His eyes rested on him, and his features fell from livid to what nearly seemed disappointment. Slowly, he sat down in his chair and then began to rummage at one of the drawers of his desk. 

Giving him a tired look, Natasha lazily waved in his direction. “Steven Grant Rogers. He checks out.”

James placed a shiny, silver glass platter before him on his desk. “Good. Dismissed.” He then reached for what looked like a small flask and began tapping out from it a white powder. 

Winifred spoke. “James.” 

“Go home, Ma.” He sounded like a child as he picked up a playing card and began dividing the powder into lines. 

_“James,”_ she said more loudly, crossing so she was standing over him, “you need to sleep. All of us do.”

_“Ma,”_ he said pointedly, and then looked at her like she was stupid, “you really expect me to sleep when-”

She slapped him, and then let out a gasp as if it had surprised even her. James stayed still, his head turned to the side from the force of the blow. Winifred breathed heavily, watching him, before picking up the platter and throwing it across the room. 

No one moved. 

Winifred’s voice wavered, “You don’t know how grateful I am that they can’t see you now.” She turned to look at Steve and, with some effort, she smiled at him. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers.” She gave him a short nod, and then briskly walked past him without another glance. 

Slowly, James turned his gaze back to stare down at his desk. He looked as if he was about to cry. 

“Mr. Rogers.” Weakly, Natasha’s voice caught his attention. “Let’s go, I’ll show you to your room.” She didn’t leave him much choice. Grabbing his arm, she turned him around and began to lead him out. Steve shot a glance over his shoulder at James, but he couldn’t quite catch him in his sights. Nathasha slammed the door behind them, and they hastily traversed down the hallway towards the elevator at the other end. Turning right just shy of it, she took him down a flight of switchback stairs to another, shorter hall with half a dozen doors lining either side and a sign that read Servants’ Quarters. 

“This’ll be yours,” she said as she opened up the first room on the left. “I know it’s cramped, but you’ll usually only be here on the weekends.” The interior wasn’t necessarily ‘small’ by Steve’s standards. Undercover missions abroad often had him staying in little hole-in-the wall rooms in hostels with little more than a threadbare mattress. This, however, contained a cozy looking single bed, a nightstand, wardrobe, dresser and his own private bathroom. “If you’re hungry, I can have Maria send you something to eat.”

He lightly shook his head as he stepped inside, feeling exhausted but also wondering if he’d be able to sleep at all. “No, that’s fine. I think I’ll just have a bath and lay down.”

“Okay.” She gave him a small, apologetic smile and started to close the door behind him, but stopped. “And, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Bucky’s not always like this.” Nat tilted her head as if reconsidering, _“Wasn’t_ always like this.”

“How do you mean?” Steve didn’t know where to start.

“He’s a good person, Steve,” she said earnestly. “He may not seem like it, and maybe you’ll never be able to see him like I do, like Winifred does, but the man he is today…” she trailed off. “It’s not really him.”

“Okay,” he nearly whispered. 

She gave a soft, shallow nod and then quietly shut the door. 

_Don’t trust anyone,_ Fury had told him.


	2. Speak Easy, Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets fitted for a tuxedo.
> 
> The group goes to a banquet. 
> 
> Steve meets an old friend. 
> 
> Bucky loses his head.

Steve awoke several hours later, his eyes fluttering open to the pale streams of light filtering in through the curtain at his lone window. He started to rouse himself, but then relaxed against the bed again instead, idly wondering the time but not curious enough to reach for his pocket watch on the nightstand. A part of him wanted to get up and simply leave; head straight back to D.C. and tell Fury that he couldn’t protect a criminal — at least, not one like James Barnes. Perhaps Fury knew that if he’d told Steve the truth about Barnes, if he’d said all that Pierce had, he wouldn’t have taken the mission. 

He swallowed, and the dryness in his mouth provided enough incentive for him to sit up and head to his bathroom. Flipping on the light, he couldn’t help but take a moment to gander at the brass fixtures and porcelain toiletries, pristine and shining under the glow of the recessed bulbs in the ceiling. He picked up an intricately blown glass resting by the sink and placed it beneath the faucet, turning the tap to see a steady, pure stream of water flowing and filling it. Even without all the ostentatious niceties, conveniences like this were often hard to come by, and he briefly reasoned that it might be worth it to stay here, for a little while at the least, if only for these indulgences. 

Taking a close look at himself in the mirror, he averted the gaze of the stranger looking back at him. A light scruff shown round the edges underneath heavy bags and scattered locks, and with a flagging sigh he made to put him at rest. 

Minutes later, a quiet knock came at his door. “Steve,” and then a soft curse. _“Mr. Rogers?”_

Wiping his cheeks with a towel, he called out, “It’s open.”

Natasha entered, shutting the door behind her. “I figured you’d be up. That’s good, we’ve got a banquet to attend in a few hours.”

He stuck his head out of the bathroom. “A banquet?”

“Do you have anything nice to wear?” she asked, crossing to his wardrobe. 

“Of course,” he threw the towel over his shoulder, walking out to join her. 

“Oh, no,” she said as she held up one of his suits, giving it a look more like concern than judgment. “No, this won’t do.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

She gave it a precursory sniff before wincing. “We’ll summon the tailor. He’s a lively fellow. You’ll hate him.” With that, she hung it back up and turned for the door. “Just put on some trousers and a button-up for now. I’ll be waiting in Bucky’s office.”

Nearly offended, he said to himself, “There’s nothing wrong with this suit,” and gave it a whiff. After changing, he proceeded up to Barnes’ office to find Natasha leaning back against his desk, her arms crossed. “Where is he?” he asked. 

She nodded to the door at the side and then walked over to it, flinging it open.

_“Jesus,_ don’t you knock?”

Steve tepidly followed her, gazing through the doorway to what was apparently Barnes’ office bedroom. He stood to the side of a king size bed, his back turned, hurriedly buttoning his shirt; doing the same, the dark haired man Steve briefly met in the morning grinned at Nat.

She gestured to him. “Get out, Rumlow.”

“Good to see you too, doll,” he said as he walked past her, and then nodded to Steve, “New guy.”

It took Steve a moment to process things. Barnes hadn’t struck him as a sexual invert; but then, not all sexual inverts adhered to textbook definitions. 

After Rumlow exited, she said dryly, “We need to telephone the tailor.”

“What for?” Barnes asked, not even acknowledging Steve’s presence. 

“For Rogers. He needs a tux for the banquet.”

Flattening his shirt, Barnes scowled. “I already told you, he doesn’t need to come.”

“I highly recommend that he does, Bucky.”

“I don’t care, he’s not coming.” Barnes crossed to a large, mahogany dresser with ornate carvings and began rummaging through a drawer. Scowling at Steve, he groaned, “God, they’re gonna think he’s my _escort,_ Natasha.”

“You’ve had escorts before.”

“Yeah, _female_ escorts. This ain’t New Guinea.” Seeming to have found what he was looking for, Barnes began fastening on a pair of cufflinks. “What did Ma say to pay him, anyway?”

“She didn’t.”

“Carter don’t have him on the books yet?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

He whined, “Well, how the hell am _I_ supposed to know?”

Natasha shrugged.

“You,” he directed his attention to Steve, “what do you usually get paid for this kind of thing?”

_Very little, considering,_ he thought. “Just give me whatever you think is fair.”

“Whatever I think is fair,” Barnes said mockingly. He approached a half-open safe in the wall, reached inside, and then then tossed Steve an envelope. “There. That’s your first month.”

Steve opened it, his eyes widening as he thumbed through the bills. “Are you serious?”

Barnes scowled again. “Jesus, you can’t be _that_ good. You really used to gettin’ that kinda bread every week?”

To the contrary, Steve barely earned that much in _six_ months, let alone one. “No, this is… this is fine.” He held back a laugh. 

Natasha clarified, “So Rogers is coming this evening.”

Barnes shook his head emphatically. “Like I said, not tonight. It’s unnecessary.”

She ventured, “Sinthea will be there. They need to know that we’re not taking this lightly.”

“And they’ll take it as a sign of weakness.” He exited into the next room, and she trailed him. 

“It will send a message, Bucky. If anything, it’s a warning.”

Steve followed them in.

Barnes sat at his desk and Natasha took a seat in one of the chairs opposite him. “He’s just one guy, Nat. And besides, I don’t give a shit about sending warnings. The place is gonna be filled with cops, anyway. Schmidt doesn’t have the guts.”

Nat stayed quiet for a moment before adding, “Your mother insists.”

The look of derision on Barnes’ face could’ve moved mountains. “Ma don’t always get her way, you know.”

Natasha simply raised an eyebrow. 

Barnes picked up a fountain pen and began tapping it on his desk, working his mouth as if he couldn’t get rid of a bad taste. “Goddammit.” He reached for his brass telephone and picked up the receiver, taking three quick strikes at the dial. “Maria, telephone Wilson.” He paused. “Yeah, tell him it’s urgent. He needs to bring,” Barnes glanced at Steve, “tell him to bring some larger sizes.” He blinked a few times. “Jesus, fuck, I dunno! Rumlow’s size. Bigger. Yeah, thanks, doll.” He hung up the telephone and then leaned back in his seat. “There, you happy?”

“Occasionally.”

After inviting Steve to sit down, Barnes and Nat continued to ignore his presence as they discussed various issues at Barnes’ Palace. The head chef was banging a maid, which greatly displeased the maid he’d been banging previously. One of the people they paid to launder money into the casino by losing at blackjack was trying to blackmail them with threats of alerting the authorities, giving them a hearty laugh. A servant brought them several platters of food, which Steve helped devour as they argued over whether or not the salmon was too heavily seasoned.

Without so much as a knock, the door burst open. “Master Barnes, I swear to God, if you wait until the _day of_ one more time for me to dress you, I’ll put you in a corset.”

“Wade,” Barnes lazily strummed his fingers on his desk, “don’t be a tease.”

“You think you’ve gotten fat again, is that it? ‘Bigger than Brock,’” he chuckled, “I’d say that only your mother is more dramatic, but the fruit didn’t fall far from that tree, did it?”

“You’re dressing _him.”_ James pointed to Steve. 

“Oh.” Wade gave Steve a once-over with an exceedingly wide grin. _“Oh!_ You weren’t exaggerating. Peter,” he motioned to young man behind him, struggling to get a rack full of suits and tuxedos through the doorway, “you were right, it turns out I’ll need the tape after all.”

Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled up cloth tape measure. Wade took it from him and then turned to Steve. “Alright, stand up. What’s your name?”

“Steve,” he answered. 

“Take off your shirt, _Steve.”_ As he unbuttoned his shirt, Wade asked, “So, James, who is this ‘Steve?’”

“Not what you’re thinking.” He lit up a cigarette. “He’s just here for protection.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Wade gave Steve a wink. “Peter here is just for _protection,_ too.” Steve let his shirt fall from his shoulders, revealing the holster strapped about his waist. Wade’s eyes trailed down his undershirt to the pistol, and he huffed.

“For protection.” Steve smirked. 

“Right,” Wade said lightly and then went to work, calling out measurements as Peter scribbled them down on a notepad. “Your arms, seventeen inches around!” He gave Steve a scandalized look. “And your chest, Christ, forty-nine! James, where did you _find_ him?” He pouted and poked at Steve’s left pec. “I want one.”

Barnes appeared to have already lost interest. “Hurry up, Wade. We ain’t got all day.”

Wade muttered to Steve, “He’s always in such a hurry. Alright, drop your trousers.”

Steve looked to Nat for direction, but she turned her head. 

“You won’t be wearing tweed underneath my finest, will you?”

“But-”

_“The trousers._ Then we’ll see if I even brought something that fits you.” He snatched Steve’s hat from his head. “And this? This is going in the garbage.”

“Hey,” Steve reached to grab it back, but he tossed it into the waste bin, “I like that hat!”

“Just because you _like_ it doesn’t mean you should _wear_ it. At least not in public. Or around people. Or at all.”

“Those are in fashion,” Steve countered. 

“Yeah, for twelve-year-olds standing on street corners screaming at passersby.” Wade exaggerated a grumble, “Look, are you going to take off your trousers or do you want me to do it for you? Because I will.”

“Right here?” Steve protested, even looking to Barnes, but he seemed lost in a newspaper. “Can’t we-”

“Yes, here. I’m a _professional,_ after all.” Finally unclasping his suspenders, Steve let his trousers fall to his feet. Immediately going to his knees, Wade resumed his taking of measurements. “Okay, just one more thing,” he sat back on his heels when he finished, “do you dress to your left or your right?”

“Pardon?” Steve didn’t know what he meant. 

“Your stuff. The goods. Jewels. Heirlooms.” Wade gazed up at him wryly. “Do they go on the left or the-” He stopped and giggled. “I’m just kidding, I can tell.” Quickly standing, Wade instructed, “Peter, dear, bring over the full dress with the shawl lapel.” He picked at Steve’s hair, tousling it a bit, and then looked him over. “It might be a tight squeeze, but it’ll have to do for now.” Wade helped Steve into his attire, and he hadn’t been wrong; it was a tight squeeze. At last, he fastened an ascot tie about his neck, tapping it twice and then standing back. “Well, what do you think, Master Barnes?”

Barnes leaned his head to the side, squinting slightly, his cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. 

Natasha deadpanned, “The shirt’s a little baggy.” 

“It’ll do,” he said finally, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Good. Drop by the shop next week and we’ll fill out his wardrobe.” Wade paused and then added, “That is, if you don’t plan on running him off.”

“We’ll see.” He gave a now-familiar frown and returned his eyes to his newspaper.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Steve.” Wade shook his hand. “If things don’t, uh, work out between you and James, I’m sure I could come up with _something_ worth paying you for.”

At a loss for words, all he could manage was a simple ‘thank you.’ 

Wade turned to his protégé, “Peter! Let’s go.” He walked briskly out the door. 

Peter fumbled with the rack as he pushed it through the doorway, but then stopped and turned. “Um, Mr. Barnes?”

Barnes looked up from his paper with a look of mild surprise. “Yes?”

“Did they ever find out who killed Jack?” He looked away. “It’s just, I hadn’t heard anything. Jack and I went to school together.”

The ash at the end of Barnes’ cigarette fell, crumbling as it hit his shirt. “Uh, no, kid. They didn’t. Least not yet. The police are lookin’ into it.”

“The police. Right.” Peter nodded and then turned back to the task at hand.

When he’d left, Steve asked, “Who was Jack?” 

“He worked out at the docks,” Nat answered. “They found him yesterday in a warehouse.”

“Foul play,” he reasoned.

“Somethin’ like that,” Barnes said as he brushed the ash from his shirt. “Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

“Is that why I’m here?”

“Part of it,” Natasha allowed and then motioned to his tux. “You ready?”

Steve looked down at himself, unaccustomed to formal wear of this kind. “I suppose so. What is this event, again?”

“It’s a banquet in the Bureaucratic District,” Natasha explained, “in honor of Port Pleasant’s Emergency Services members — police, firefighters, medics, but mostly just the cops. At the least, we have to make an appearance, and we can’t have you looking so,” she looked to his clothes on the floor, “homely.”

“We’ll leave in an hour.” James got up from his desk and began walking towards his bedroom. “Go wait for me in the lobby.”

Natasha stood as well and beckoned Steve to follow her out the door. Once in the hallway, she asked, “So are you thinking of quitting yet?”

“It crossed my mind.”

She lit up her cigarette stick and blew out a stream of smoke as they waited for the lift at the end of the hall. “Well, if it’s any consolation, that should be the worst of it.”

Steve sighed. “You mean being groped by a tailor?”

“No,” she shook her head and let out a laugh. “Bucky. Between what you saw this morning and just now.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed as the lift arrived and they stepped onto it, “he’s certainly colorful.”

“And that won’t affect your decision to stay?”

“What, his charm?” he sarcastically asked. 

“No, his… preferences.”

_Oh._ Steve cleared his throat and looked away from her. “What bothers me is what he does with the rest of his time.”

“I figured.” 

When the lift reached the ground floor, Steve stepped off, but halted when Nat didn’t follow. “You coming?”

“Going back up.” She smiled kindly at him. “Just wanted to see you off safely.”

He felt himself begin to smile back at her, but stopped short. “Thanks.”

The lift began to raise, and she called out to him, “Don’t fall asleep waiting on him. He’s never on time.” She waved just before she disappeared from view. “See you there.”

As instructed, Steve waited for Barnes in the lobby. He people-watched as Maria and two finely dressed clerks checked in a few guests; some families, some couples, but mostly singles. Wondering if some of them might be attending the banquet, he then grew slightly anxious. Given that his graduation from boot camp and the celebration that followed was the only thing he’d ever attended that even remotely resembled a banquet, he felt unsure of how to conduct himself. He’d just have to wing it, he reasoned, and tried to remind himself that Natasha would be there to offer him guidance if needed. 

“You okay?” Barnes’ voice brought him from his thoughts. 

Steve glanced up, and found himself nothing less than impressed. James’ tuxedo fit him like a glove, and the piercing black brought out the soft blue of his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he answered, bringing himself to his feet. 

“Okay,” Barnes nodded as if he didn’t believe him. “You seemed a little out of it is all.”

“Just wondering what to expect tonight.”

“A lot of bullshit,” he straightened his jacket. “Just an excuse for the rich and powerful to kiss each other’s asses and feel good about themselves.”

He wondered, _Doesn’t that include you?_

“Come on,” he didn’t wait for Steve, “the carriage is waiting.” They proceeded out the front, and as the driver held the door open for Barnes to get in, he mentioned, “Wade did a decent job on ya. Even if it’s a bit small.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I was complimentin’ Wilson, not you.” Barnes settled into his seat. “And let’s just put an end to this now, don’t call me ‘sir.’ I hate that shit.”

Steve discreetly bit his lip. “Okay. What should I call you?”

As the carriage began to rumble along the cobblestones, he lit up a cigarette and shook the match out. “James is fine. Unless we’re around people. Then you'll have to 'sir' me.”

“Alright. James.” In the ensuing silence, he asked, “Romanoff said this banquet is in honor of Emergency Services, is that right?”

James blew a stream of smoke at him. “We don’t really have to talk, you know, you and me.”

“It’s important that I know what’s going on.”

Glaring, James eventually relented. “Yeah, Emergency Services. Mayor Pierce will get up on stage and introduce the new police chief, they’ll hand out a few medals and everyone will clap. It’s all a big fuckin’ joke, though.”

“Maybe it’s a joke to people like _you,_ but it means a lot for everyday folks to be recognized for the work they do; especially cops, firefighters and the like.” He met James’ glare head-on. “You’d be surprised how many people just take them for granted.”

James cocked his head. “‘People like _me?’”_

“Yes, _sir.”_

His brow twiched. “You think I don’t care about those things?”

Steve gave a light shrug. “How should I know?”

“If I said I did, would you believe me?”

Steve considered that. “Yes. I think I would.”

“That’s cute. Naive, but cute.” He smiled, took a drag, and then chuckled. “But yeah, I care. The rest, I dunno. Lot o’ big names there tonight. Tony Stark and his wife Pepper, Bruce Banner, Hank Pym. You familiar with any of ‘em?” 

“A few.”

James leaned forward. “What about Johann Schmidt. You heard o’ him?”

“He’s your competition.”

“You could put it that way.” Reclining back in his seat, he looked out the window as he spoke, “I doubt he’ll show his ugly face tonight, but his daughter Sinthea will. In the end, it doesn’t really matter if you care or not, so long as other people think you do.”

He studied James’s facial expressions and body language as he spoke, and knew he wasn’t lying. “What about your mother?”

“Ma,” James shook his head, “she cares, but that ain’t no secret. She’s being recognized tonight, too, but she doesn’t know about it.”

“What for?”

“People come to her and ask for stuff.” He waved it off, a wispy trail of smoke following his hand, “She did some favors last year. Paid for a few funerals, helped out some widows. Nothin’ much, just politics.”

“Is that why she did it?” He didn’t mean to sound so skeptical. “Politics?”

James grimaced and repositioned himself. “If you asked her… I dunno.”

“I’m asking you.”

“She’s my ma, what do you want me to say? Don’t you think the world of yours?” They fell into a comfortable silence, and when the driver slowed them to a stop, James gave Steve a light kick in the shin. “We’re here.”

Although dusk had not yet settled, the granite facade of George Barnes Memorial Hall stood lit up in golden light. He stole a look at James as they climbed the stone steps; he hadn’t mentioned that detail. Inside, the jovial music of a band on the distant stage carried across the hundred or so people already intermingling. Some were seated at round tables with fine white lace tablecloths and silver candelabras at the center, and others were moving about talking and laughing with one another, shaking hands, and taking drinks from servers carrying platters stocked with flutes of champagne. 

A server at the entrance bowed when he saw James. “Right this way, Mr. Barnes.” They followed the gentleman to a table at the side of the western wall near the stage. 

Winifred and Natasha were already seated, having a drink. “James!” His mother stood as she greeted him, giving him a kiss on each cheek. “You look so handsome,” she added as she took a step back, admiring him. 

“Thanks, Ma,” he said, if only a little reluctantly, as his cheeks tinted a shade of pink. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, as always. And that dress is beautiful, when’d you get it?”

“Oh, this old thing?” Winifred did a little twirl. “I’ve had it for years. Mr. Rogers,” she sized him up, “not bad, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you, Ms. Barnes,” he nodded appreciatively. 

“Would you care to be my date for the evening?”

_“Ma,”_ James objected, “don’t embarrass him.”

Steve couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “It’s alright, I don’t mind.” Casting a look over to Natasha, she sat poised with her cigarette stick in hand, grinning. He returned her smile and then stood back by the wall, planting his feet and straightening up with his hands clasped behind him, surveying the room as Winifred and James took their seats. 

“Steven,” Winifred called to him. He turned to look at her, and she paused. “Do you mind if I call you ‘Steven?’”

“No, ma’am, that’s fine.”

“Steven,” she started again, “may I ask what you’re doing?”

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. Steve had assumed he’d be standing guard all evening. “Is something wrong, ma’am?”

She motioned to the empty seat beside James, “Would you care to sit with us?” It sounded less like a question than it did an order. 

Steve obeyed, and sipped at a glass of water as he listened to the three of them make small-talk. One of the city councilmen was recently divorced, and he was here with a young woman; the way they spoke of it, it was quite the scandal. Mayor Pierce and his wife had not yet arrived, which was unlike them; however, Benjamin Davies had, and James cast a dark look in his direction. Nat seemed to share in James’ dislike of Benny, but Winifred appeared unbothered. 

The band ended one song and struck up another, and James raised his head as he looked out to the dance floor in front of the stage. “Mm,” it sounded like a purr, “care to tango, Nat?”

Having finished with it, she set her cigarette stick to the side. “Have I ever refused you before?”

James stood and crossed to her, holding out his hand. She placed hers in his, and he helped her up. Arm in arm, they made towards the stage. Winifred stared after them with a fond expression. 

“They’d make a cute couple, don’t you think?”

Steve watched as they danced. “They’re quite the pair.”

“She brings out the best and the worst in him, I’m afraid.” Winifred turned her head to look at Steve. “And what about you, Steven? Do you have someone special?”

He smiled at that. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Barnes.”

“Please, call me Winifred.” She reached out and lightly touched his arm. “And how old are you?”

“I’ll turn twenty-seven in July.”

“Ah, so about two years younger than James. Do you have family?”

“No, ma’am,” he shook his head. “Just me. My father died before I was born, and my mother passed a little over a decade ago.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay.” Steve didn’t want to dwell on the subject. “I think I’ve done alright for myself.”

“So it would seem.” Winifred looked back out to her son, and her smile returned. “I always love seeing James like this. It reminds me of when he was younger. He may be a grown man now, but he’ll always be my baby boy.”

“You’ve done well, Winifred. He’s a very charming man.” However bad of a liar Steve was, Winifred appeared to believe him.

“I’m glad you think so.” Her expression darkened. “There’s nothing I care more for in this world, but if I’d known twenty years ago what I know now, I would have done things differently.”

Steve wanted to gently pry at that, but they were interrupted. “Winnie!” A man approached them, and she stood up to give him a hug. 

“Abraham,” she embraced him heartily and then kissed his cheek, “so glad you could come. Steven,” she introduced them, “this is Dr. Erskine, our family doctor. Dr. Erskine, this is Mr. Steven Rogers.”

“Hello, Steven.” Dr. Erskine shook his hand. “And who are you to Lady Winifred?”

“I’m-”

“He’s James’ new guardian,” she answered for him. 

“Oh! I see.” A hint of worry crossed his features, “Should I be concerned?”

She placed a reassuring hand on his arm, “No, not at all. It’s just a precaution.”

“Well, Steven, I trust that you will take good care of Master Barnes. I’ve known him since he first came into this world.”

“Dr. Erskine delivered both James and Rebecca.”

It was the first time he’d heard anyone since Mayor Pierce say her name. The band continued with its upbeat music and the chatter and laughter around them carried on, but their conversation took an unmistakable pause. Winifred looked almost troubled, as if she’d misspoken, but Dr. Erskine intervened. 

“Would you join me for a dance, Winnie?” he asked, holding out his arm. 

Gracefully, she accepted his offer and excused herself as they walked to the dancefloor. Left by himself, Steve took a moment to relax. His thoughts dwelled on Winifred’s mention of Rebecca until a waiter offered him a drink. He politely declined, and then found his eyes wandering out towards James and Natasha. Moving like feathers in the wind, they made a spectacle of themselves with no effort whatsoever. He found it difficult not to be captivated by their dancing, and perhaps even felt slightly envious. 

“Steve?” A long forgotten but still familiar voice reached him. “Steve Rogers?”

He turned his head and nearly fell out of his chair. “Sam?” Steve jumped to his feet and met him halfway, embracing him in a bear hug. “Oh, my God! How long has it been?”

“Since bootcamp?” Sam asked as they parted to arms’ length. “Almost nine years and counting.”

“It doesn’t seem that long ago. Feels like just yesterday Colonel Phillips was screaming us deaf.”

“I wasn’t even sure it was you. Saw you across the room and thought, ‘Is that?... no!’” Sam put a familiar hand on his arm, “You must weigh twice as much, and you’ve grown! You’re as tall as I am now.”

Steve brushed it off, “Late bloomer.” He didn’t bother to mention that he’d had a little help from the government.

“I wrote you after, just like we said we would.” Sam’s smile faded slightly, but remained. “Remember?”

A pang of guilt struck him. “Yeah, I do. I’m sorry about that.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He gave Steve a light chuck on the shoulder. “I know they picked you for some kind of special program. Figured they didn’t let you. Either that or you just forgot about me.”

Steve knew he was teasing, but it still hurt. Back in the barracks when he was only sixteen, small and scrawny, Sam had been his only friend. Those two months had felt more like two years, and Steve sometimes doubted he would’ve made it without Sam there to push him when he felt he couldn’t go any further, and then catch him when he fell. “I didn’t forget you, Sam, I promise.” He didn’t know how to express how grateful he’d been for him, “And I did get your letters. Read them dozens of times, every single one.”

“Sorry about that. I never was good with words.”

Puzzled, Steve shook his head. “Are you kidding? I laughed my ass off.” Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow, and he clarified, “I mean, in a good way! It was like you were right there next to me. I could almost hear you.”

With a satisfied smile, he nodded. “That’s good to know.”

“So what brings you to a place like Port Pleasant?” Steve motioned to the room around them. “Got tired of the Army?”

“Well,” he leaned in and said in a hushed tone, “the mayor’s going to announce the city’s new Chief of Police tonight.”

“I heard. Are you a friend of theirs?”

“You could say that,” he grinned and then pointed to himself with both hands, “it’s me.”

Steve gaped in surprise. “You’re kidding! That’s terrific, congratulations!” 

Sam downplayed it, “Thanks, but I don’t know how much of an honor it is.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve been an officer here for five years. And yeah, we crack down on a lot of crime, but mostly petty stuff. It’s no secret that there are some fish who are too big to fry.” He became more serious. “You understand?”

Steve’s stomach dropped. “Yeah,” he nodded solemnly, “yeah, I do.”

“There’s only so much that can be done when the entire system is rigged to benefit the ones at the top, but that’s just how things work in Port Pleasant. Every single person in this city is corrupt, Steve. Some thrive on it, and others,” he sighed, “well, we’re not always left with much of a choice other than to play by their rules.”

Not knowing what to say, Steve remained quiet. 

“But hey,” he smiled again, “maybe once it’s official and I’ve got a chance to do my job, I can start turning things around little by little. Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?”

“That’s right,” Steve agreed, remembering how Pierce had said the same thing to him early that morning.

“So why are _you_ here?” Sam eyed him curiously. “If I saw you anywhere else in town, I’d figure you were just taking vacation. But this? This gig is invitation-only.”

“I’m, uh,” Steve didn’t want to say it, but he didn’t want to lie to him, either. “I’m working for James Barnes.”

Blinking, Sam’s expression fell and Steve’s heart with it. “You mean, at the casino? The hotel?”

“I’m his bodyguard.”

Sam took a step back, gave a shallow laugh, and then shook his head. “Wow. Never would’ve expected that outta you.”

“It’s just for a while.” He tried to soften the blow. “I only started today, and-”

“Hey,” Sam cut him off, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s just that the guy I knew back in boot camp…”

“I know what you’re thinking, Sam. And I-”

“No, you _don’t_ know what I’m thinking.” He started to back away. “Look, I’ve already said too much. I know you’re a good guy, Steve, or at least you were. James Barnes, he’s _not_ a good guy, and Port Pleasant would be better off without him.” He locked his jaw, and looked directly in Steve’s eyes. “You can tell him I said that. I don’t care.”

“I won’t.”

Sam looked away, took a breath, and then nodded. “Take care of yourself, Rogers. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

“Looking forward to it,” he replied genuinely. 

With another nod, Sam walked away and Steve returned to his chair. He started to reach for his glass of water, but the familiar waiter walked by and again offered him a flute of champagne, which he now accepted. He downed it in one swallow, and set it to the side. Up until this point, everything about Port Pleasant had felt almost compartmentalized, like business as usual; Fury’s orders, Pierce’s warnings, Natasha’s insights, James’s ambiguity and Winifred’s quiet control. But Sam? He may have only known him for eight weeks nearly ten years ago, but that impression weighed on him.

“Something wrong, soldier?” Natasha dropped into her seat like a curious cat. 

Truth be told, he never felt like he lived up to the title. “No, I’m fine,” he forced a smile. “What happened to your partner?”

_“‘Partner?’”_ She laughed. “He’s still dancing. I saw you sitting here all alone and thought I’d give you some company.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Steve’s eyes wandered out to James on the dancefloor to find him waltzing with his mother. “Tell me, how did you and _Bucky_ meet?”

Natasha held her cigarette stick with poise, and seemed nearly suspicious. “Why do you want to know?”

Steve shrugged and innocently said, “Just wondering.”

The corner of her mouth turned up in a skeptical grin. “I happened across him about eight years ago in Bagalia.”

“Funny.” The waiter passed by again, and he and Natasha both took a drink. “You don’t have to lie, Nat.”

“I’m not lying.” She lit up her cigarette stick and blew a stream of smoke. “I was playing blackjack, staking out a hit. Bucky kept winning, and you know how much I hate to lose. Started paying more attention to him than I should’ve and lost the target.” She took another drag. “But I called him out for card counting. It’s the little things.”

Steve could hardly believe it, and nearly laughed. He’d always known Nat to be above such rookie errors. “What was he doing in Bagalia?”

“Around his eighteenth birthday, he found about his father’s… true line of work. He threw a fit, and left.”

“What do you mean, ‘threw a fit?’”

“Like I told you, Steve. Bucky wasn’t always like this.” She twirled the contents of her champagne flute and then took a swig. “I think that growing up, he knew in his heart that George was corrupt, but he didn’t want to believe it. Sometimes, it’s easy to turn a blind eye if we think we’ve got a good reason to.”

Steve posited, “But he found out about the drugs, the trafficking.”

“I think he had more of a problem with who his father was selling them to.”

_Hydra. Johann Schmidt._ Steve only had more questions. “I can just imagine his surprise when he found out _you_ were working for Hydra.”

She gave a regretful sigh. “Blind eyes.”

He didn’t push that particular subject further. “So he left his family because of his father’s corruption, and then went to Bagalia of all places?”

Natasha waved it off. “It’s not so shocking, really. He grew up in Port Pleasant. It only makes sense that he’d settle down somewhere that feels like a home away from home.”

“And now he’s _back_ home, doing the exact same thing as his father?”

She didn’t answer him immediately. Leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table, Nat downed the remainder of her flute. “I don’t expect you to understand. It’s not that I think you couldn’t if I tried to explain it, it’s that I wouldn’t care if you didn’t. We’re not all like you, Steve, cut from the cloth of the damned red, white and blue.”

It felt like an insult, and surely it was. “Well,” he took a drink from his flute, “at least he has a good consigliere.”

“And he’s got a good bodyguard, so long as you can do your job and stop asking questions you don’t want the answers to.” She reasoned with him, “If you’re trying to feel less awful about what you’re doing here, don’t. You’ve got your orders. Follow them.”

“That’s easy to say.”

“It’s easy to _do,_ Rogers.” She shook her head. “God, when did you become so righteous?”

He felt the answer was obvious. “I’ve always done what I thought was right.”

Ashing her cigarette, she squinted at him. “Was it ‘right’ to fuck a Chekist?”

He couldn’t stop the blood, either out of anger or embarrassment, rushing to his face. “That had nothing to do with right and wrong.”

“Maybe not, but it happened,” she puffed, “however briefly.”

Steve initially meant to strengthen his argument, but caught her tone. “That was only one time.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was cute, okay? You came in your pants. It happens. Everyone’s a virgin until they’re not.”

He made to protest, “I wasn’t-”

Winifred interrupted him as she and James made their way back to the table. She beamed, “Wanda’s about to go on.”

“And that means the food’s about to be served.” James plopped down heavily in his seat next to Steve and patted his stomach. “I’m half starved.”

“Who’s Wanda?” Steve asked Natasha.

“Wanda Maximoff. She’s the casino’s resident singer. Her brother is Pietro; he runs the docks,” she answered. “You, uh, you met him briefly this morning.”

The band finished up a song as Mayor Pierce took to the stage. He tapped on the microphone and, after a brief moment of feedback, greeted the attendees. “Good evening! Every year, it’s my pleasure to host this banquet in honor and recognition of the brave men and women who keep our great city safe. Members of the police force, firefighters and first responders, we owe you a debt that we can never repay.” He placed a hand on his chest, “From the bottom of my heart, and from all of us who depend on your tireless efforts, thank you.” The room broke out into applause. “Thank you,” he added and then clapped along.

Steve joined in the applause, slowly at first. Mayor Pierce seemed sincere, but he had his very understandable doubts. He wondered, _is_ everyone _here so willfully blind?_

“And now, please stand as Judith Coleman, our very own Little Miss Port Pleasant, leads us in the Pledge of Allegiance.”

A young girl, six years old at most with her hair done up and dressed in an evening gown more suited for an adult, walked out onto the stage next to him. Everyone stood, and Mayor Pierce lowered the microphone stand as she almost mechanically turned to the American flag and put her hand over heart. “I pledge allegiance to my Flag and to the Republic for which it stands,” the chorus of the attendees ebbed and swelled with her timbre, “one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Steve found himself struggling to comprehend the charade. Those words meant so very much to him, and as he spoke them, they felt almost blasphemous. 

She curtsied and walked off as Pierce readjusted the microphone stand, feedback blaring in the process. “Thank you, Miss Coleman. ‘With liberty and justice.’ To me, those are the most important words of our Pledge. The liberties of the citizens of Port Pleasant are a shining example of what we can achieve, together, with resounding justice for all. I’m sure that you’re as excited as I am to honor those that help defend our liberties whilst exacting justice on those who dare to threaten them. However, it saddens me to say that I must disappoint you.”

The band struck up a cheery tune.

Pierce grinned as he extended his hand to someone off-stage. “While dinner is served, you’ll be subjected to the likes of Barnes’ Palace own starlet, Miss Wanda Maximoff.”

The attendees broke into a laugh, and then gave applause as she walked out in a glittering red dress. First giving the mayor a kiss on both cheeks, she grabbed hold of the microphone and commanded attention, singing.

_It had to be you  
It had to be you_

Wanda playfully swayed her hips as she crossed the stage.

_I wandered around and finally found that somebody who_

A few catcalls emitted from the audience, and Steve only found himself distracted when a server set a plate of food in front of him.

_Could make me be true  
Could make me feel blue_

He stared at the thick sirloin steak as another server dipped in between him and James with a tray of champagne flutes.

_And even be glad_  
Just to be sad  
Thinking of you 

James reached for one and spilled another into Steve’s lap. 

_Some others I’ve seen  
Might never be mean_

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry!” James grabbed his napkin.

_Might never be cross_  
Or try to be boss  
But they wouldn’t do 

James started to dab at Steve’s leg as the waiter pulled back, appalled at the situation. Steve made to stop him, “No, it’s fine.”

_For nobody else gave me a thrill_

Steve grabbed hold of James’s wrist and assured him, “It’s not bad. I’ve got it, James.”

_With all your faults I love you still_

He glanced up at Steve with a curious expression, and Steve quickly released his wrist. 

_It had to be you_  
Wonderful you  
It had to be you 

James withdrew his hand and then cleared his throat, “Sorry.” 

The waiter offered Steve some fresh napkins, and he hurriedly made himself mostly dry as the man began apologizing profusely — not to Steve, but to James. 

“You need to be more careful,” James told the waiter. “You’re lucky that wasn’t wine.” He grabbed two more flutes from the tray and shooed him off. “Here,” he handed one of them to Steve, “my apologies.”

He took it as the band played through an interlude. “You don’t have to apologize to me, but you should apologize to that waiter.”

James did a double take as if considering whether or not Steve was being serious. “I’m sorry, what? You tellin' me what to do?”

Steve reached to the inside pocket of his tuxedo, pulled out the thick envelope of money James had given him earlier, and tossed it onto the table between them. “Yeap.”

Looking to the envelope and then back to Steve, James scoffed. “It ain’t even been a day. Quittin’ already? Over _that?”_

“That’s up to you.”

He stared James down with a smirk as Wanda sung the refrain. 

_Some others I’ve seen_  
Might never be mean  
Might never be cross  
Try to be boss  
They wouldn’t do 

James finally broke, leaning back with a chuckle. He pushed the envelope back towards Steve. “Alright, fine.”

_But nobody else gave me a thrill  
With all your faults I love you still_

Steve watched, a little surprised and thoroughly pleased with himself, as James got up and approached the waiter. 

_Baby, it had to be you_  
Wonderful you  
Had to be you 

When he turned his attention back to the table, Winifred and Natasha were both staring at him, their food untouched. 

“You made that look so _easy,_ Steven,” Winifred said, a touch of envy in her voice.

“I gave him a tip,” James said as he returned, settling back into his chair. “You happy?”

Steve looked to Natasha. “Occasionally.”

James looked about the table and, noticing that all three of them were wearing smug grins, asked, “What?”

Winifred put his question to rest, “If _I_ had asked you to do that, you would’ve argued with me for the rest of the evening.”

“No, I wouldn’t have.” James picked up his knife and fork and began cutting away at his steak.

“Yes, you would.” She picked up her utensils as well. “You always argue with me. About everything.” Winifred held a calculated smile. 

“Ma,” James took a bite, “I do not!”

“You’re doing it right now, James.”

“Only because I don’t argue with you about everything.”

As mother and son argued about arguing, Steve turned his gaze back to Natasha. She gave him a humored look, and then they both quietly dined as James and Winifred engaged in a debate the likes of which seemed less seriously taken than enjoyed; and once their discussion finally drew to a healthy close, Wanda’s singing provided them entertainment. 

The food was amazing. Steve’s steak was tender, juicy and thoroughly succulent, and the sides were even better. The braised fennel and shallots nearly melted in his mouth; large and meaty, the brussels sprouts were garnished with sage, walnuts and a spicy drizzle, and he’d never even tasted glazed carrots before. When the waiter returned with more champagne, he declined at first, but James insisted. 

Perhaps he felt guilty for wetting Steve’s pants. 

Wanda finished out another song before Mayor Pierce took the stage once again. He thanked her, and then began recognizing various individuals for their service. He’d name them first, and then call them up to the stage so he could tell the attendees of their actions while they stood proudly at his side. Wanda would grace them with a medal about their necks or present them with a plaque, and he’d move on to the next. Finally, it came time to appoint the new Chief of Police. 

“I’ve seen this young man’s work in the field, and let me tell you, he’s a keeper. As most of you know, I’m always happy to see a police officer that isn’t looking for me,” the audience laughed, “but even when he was investigating yours truly on allegations of corruption, for which I’m happy to say I’ve been cleared, it was still a breath of fresh air to see him take on his duties with such gusto, charisma and honesty.” He extended his hands out to where Sam sat. “Chief Samuel Thomas Wilson, please, join us.”

Sam made his way to the stage through the applause, and one by one, every person in the room got to their feet. He shook Mayor Pierce’s hand, Wanda presented him with his new badge, encased in a wooden box with a glass cover, and then he turned to the microphone. “Thank you,” he nodded and gestured for everyone to become quiet, “thank you. That’s very kind of you.” He took a brief moment to look at the badge, and took a deep breath. “It’s no secret that some in this room did everything in their power to keep me from standing here today as Port Pleasant’s first black Chief of Police.”

Many in the audience, presumably his fellow officers, cheered, shouted, whistled and clapped at that.

It made Sam smile. “And funnily enough, their objections had nothing to do with the color of my skin. That’s one of the things I truly love about this city. Most of us are the children of immigrants, or slaves; our heritage comes from all over the world, and our diversity is something in which we take pride, embracing one another despite our differences. I promise each and every one of you this: I will work tirelessly to defend your liberties and bring justice to all who deserve it. And for those who will try to abuse their liberties in order to elude justice — be ready for a fight, because I am.”

The response was mixed, with a roaring applause mostly drowning out low murmurs of disapproval.

“Again, thank you, and I look forward to serving you.” Sam bowed, and when Mayor Pierce went to shake his hand again, he leaned in and whispered something in Sam’s ear. Given Sam’s cold, unblinking expression, Steve could only imagine what he might be saying. 

“He’s got balls,” James commented. 

“The governor hand-picked him.” Winifred sipped at her champagne and then added, “Went right over Pierce’s head. You should’ve seen his face when he found out.”

“Should we be worried?” her son asked. 

Winifred started to take another drink but stopped short, taking a moment to answer. “Perhaps. We’d be foolish to think we aren’t on his list, but I doubt that we’re his first priority. I expect he’ll immediately reopen his investigation into Alex.”

Natasha lit up her cigarette stick and leaned forward. “Even if he only focuses on taking down Pierce, that would still be bad for us. He’s the only one with enough leverage to keep Schmidt in check.”

“Hmm.” Winifred kept her eyes on the stage. “Not the only one.” 

“And now,” Pierce returned the microphone, “we have another very special person to recognize. Miss Maximoff, if you would?”

Wanda stepped forward, a wide smile on her face. “It’s been an honor to provide entertainment for you tonight, but even more so to award Freedom of the City to a woman who has done so very much for me, and for many of you as well.” She clasped her hands and turned towards their table. “Ms. Winifred Barnes, might you please join me?”

Steve looked to Winifred just in time to see her jaw drop as the room burst into applause. Natasha nudged her, encouraging her to get up, and then clapped along as she slowly stood. When she reached Wanda, enveloping her in a bear hug, James touched Steve’s shoulder. He leaned over and whispered into Steve’s ear, “The people, they love her. And they hate me. Everyone’s happy.”

As the clamor died down, Wanda retrieved a small golden box from behind her and held it as she returned to the microphone. She spoke of how Winifred helped her family after they arrived in Port Pleasant. Their mother died of consumption on the boat, and their father not long after, leaving just her and her brother alone, penniless and homeless. Like she had with so many others who came to her for help, Winifred found her brother a job at the docks, and after hearing her sing one evening, put Wanda on the stage at Barnes’ Palace. Tearfully, she opened the box and presented Winifred with a key to the city.

Winifred gave a short speech thanking her, Mayor Pierce, and the citizens of Port Pleasant before hurrying off the stage, visibly bashful. Arriving at the table with a spurned expression, Winifred quickly took to her seat. “You could have let me know about that beforehand,” she said to no one in particular. 

“Come on, Ma.” James reached across the table and sympathetically put his hand over hers. “You did great, and besides, we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I sounded like a blabbering fool.”

“You sounded like a humble woman who didn’t want to be recognized for her kindness and compassion.” Natasha wore a satisfied grin, “It’s the role we need you to play, and you do it wonderfully.”

Mayor Pierce cleared his throat, “And now, before we finish out the evening with more music and dancing, we have one last citizen to recognize. Please join me in giving Miss Sinthea Schmidt a warm welcome to the stage.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” James said, and quite loudly. The room erupted into applause, but no one at their table moved. 

Steve couldn’t have known what to expect from Sinthea. He knew she was the daughter of Johann Schmidt, the leader of Hydra’s presence in Port Pleasant, but the beautiful young woman with flowing red hair, a dazzling black gown and a vibrant smile hardly fit his idea of a run-of-the-mill criminal. 

“Last month, in the face of concerns over the rise of violence in our city’s poorest neighborhoods, Miss Schmidt came to me with a very generous offer. Starting next week, we will break ground on the construction of three new police stations, one in each of the outer districts.” The audience clapped, but the mayor continued, “This will help ensure the safety of our most underprivileged citizens while also creating more jobs for those who wish to serve in the name of the greater good.” 

Mayor Pierce thanked her for the generous donation to the city, and James added, “Well, their prices just went up.”

“We can’t do that, James.” Winifred immediately became stern. “It’s not as bad you’re thinking. They already control the slums.”

“That’s not the issue, Ma.” He lowered his voice, “We’ve been selling to them nearly at-cost for five years waiting for Schmidt to split from Hydra, and now they’re building police stations?”

“We’re not discussing this here.”

“It’s a good sign, Bucky.” Natasha ashed her cigarette stick. “They’re growing stronger.”

He scoffed, “Says the woman who’s so worried about keeping Schmidt in check.”

“Chief Wilson has much on his hands, James. Even more so, now.” She placed a calming hand on her son’s, “If we’re smart, we can be sure that he sees us as an ally when the time comes.”

On stage, the band struck up a hearty tune. James pulled his hand away from his mother, took out a cigarette and lit it. “Chief Wilson can suck my dick when the time comes, Ma. Jesus, don’t you see what’s happening here?”

Winifred became agitated. “Alex wouldn’t dare jump ship. Not now. He doesn’t-”

“Mama Winnie!” Wanda approached the table, and James, Winifred and Natasha all immediately composed themselves. “I’m so sorry! I wanted to tell you, but Bucky forbade me.”

“It’s quite alright, dear.” She stood, and embraced Wanda in another hug. “Don’t think for a moment that I’d hold you accountable.”

“Who’s this?” she looked to Steve.

“This is Mr. Steven Rogers,” Winifred explained, “James’ new guardian.”

James promptly added, “Ma thinks I need someone to hold my hand when she’s not around.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Steven.” Wanda nodded at him.

“You as well, Miss Maximoff. You have a very beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.” Wanda smiled kindly. Her eyes briefly darted over to James, adopting a hint of mischief before looking back to Steve. “Would you care to join me for a dance, sir?”

Looking playfully offended, James huffed. 

Steve hadn’t even considered the possibility of anyone asking him to dance, but presented with the opportunity, he replied, “Yes, ma’am. I’d like that.” He got up and offered her his arm, and she gracefully laced hers with his as they walked off to the dancefloor. 

She explained, “Years ago, my brother forbade me to dance with Bucky.”

“Why is that?” he asked, curious. 

“They’d just had a fight, one of many.” She turned to him, and he took the lead. “At first, I was a little furious about it. After all, who is my brother to tell me with whom I may and may not dance?”

“And still, you didn’t dance with him?”

“Not after I saw how much it bothered Bucky, no,” Wanda laughed. “Pietro still doesn’t like it when I dance with men, but it comes with the job. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but men frequently ask me to dance at the casino. It’s a small sacrifice to make in doing my part to keep our patrons happy.”

It was then that Steve noticed how many envious eyes were on them. Around them, men and women alike kept stealing glances. He nearly blushed. 

“It’s become something of a joke among us, now,” she continued. “I never pass up the opportunity to ask a man to dance in his presence, and his reaction always scratches some notorious itch within me.”

He looked out to where James sat at the table. True enough, he nearly seemed to be glaring at them. Steve smiled, “That’s very funny.”

“Very _unladylike,”_ she corrected him, and added with a touch of sarcasm, “I should be ashamed.”

“No, not at all. If it weren’t for this little game, I wouldn’t have the pleasure of dancing with you.”

She laughed again, more genuinely this time, “I suppose that’s true.” 

As they finished out the song and started another, she told Steve more about her brother. Pietro and James had a rocky business relationship, but James trusted no one else with overseeing the docks. Although, in the past few months things had worsened. Various incidents had cost them money, and while Wanda didn’t feel that they were all entirely the fault of her brother, she had begun to worry for him. 

He started to inquire further, but his attention was drawn back to the table. Dressed in casual attire, Rumlow had appeared, leaning over James' shoulder and whispering something into his ear. Steve could see the crimson in James’ face from across the room, and when he stood he did so quickly, bumping the table and disturbing its contents. Natasha stood as well, and she and James began heading toward the exit. 

Wanda was in the middle of telling him a story of when she and her brother were younger, and it pained Steve to interrupt her. “I’m sorry, Wanda. It’s been a pleasure, but it looks like James is leaving.”

“Don’t fret over it.” She appeared thoroughly unbothered. “Until next time?”

“Looking forward to it.” Steve nodded to her, and as he stepped away, three men broke from their partners and approached her for a dance. He made his way through the attendees as quickly as he could, and when he got to the table, Rumlow was helping Winifred into her shawl. 

When he stopped to ask what he should do, she motioned toward them and said, quite urgently, “Go with them!”

Almost at a sprint, Steve maneuvered through the tables, brushed past a waiter with a tray full of desserts, and made his way out the doors just as their carriage was pulling to the curb.

James didn’t wait for the driver to get out and open the door for them. As he flung it open, he nearly shouted, “God, I can’t wait to get my hands on him.”

“You can’t do that, Bucky.” Natasha climbed in after James. “It will only escalate the situation. The last thing we want to do is hurt him.”

Steve got in after, and shut the door behind him as the carriage took off. 

“Oh, I’m not gonna hurt him. I’m gonna _kill_ him.”

“No,” she said decisively. “Bucky, listen to me.”

He brought a small, silver object from his jacket and unscrewed the top. He pulled off the cap, and drew out a long, thin piece of metal; a tiny spoon filled with white powder at the end. 

_“Bucky.”_

He snorted it, and then dipped it back in. 

“Bucky. Stop.”

“I ain’t had any all night.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you even hear yourself?”

James challenged her, “You ever see me do this for fun?” He brought it to his other nostril and took it with a quick, short sniff before tilting his head back, sniffing twice more. 

Natasha sighed and said to Steve, “He thinks it helps him concentrate.”

“It _does_ help me concentrate.”

“It makes you violent.”

James screwed the cap back on. “No, but you open your trap about it again and I’ll _get_ violent.”

She gaped at him, shocked. “Is that a threat?” 

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, you’ll find out.”

Natasha leaned towards him, their faces inches apart. “I fucking dare you to lay a finger on me.”

James seemed to consider this, and with a hint of a grin, reached out to lay a finger on her knee. Natasha immediately grabbed it and began twisting it back. James came out of his seat as he cringed, “Ow, OW! _OW!_ Okay! _Okay!”_

She released him and James settled back into his seat, lighting up a cigarette. 

“I’m out. You have another?” Natasha asked. 

He handed her one and lit it for her.

Steve had many questions, but he started off simply. “Where are we going?”

“The Industrial District,” Natasha answered. “The cops caught two of Schmidt’s men smuggling in some goods.”

“We own the docks. Nothing comes through without Maximoff’s approval.” James ashed his cigarette into the floorboard. “Jesus, I can’t believe he’s got the audacity…”

“Let me handle it, Bucky.”

The two of them smoked in relative peace as the carriage bumped along. Steve gazed out at the darkened, mammoth buildings, and they pulled down an alleyway before finally coming to a stop. Outside, Steve could make out another carriage, its rear covered, two men on their knees and four others standing a few feet away; one was in casual attire, the others unmistakably police officers. James quite eagerly got out first. Steve and Natasha followed. 

“Heinrich Zemo,” James crossed his arms and tilted his head, “It’s odd, I was just thinking about you earlier today.”

He spoke with a strong German accent, “Perhaps it’s fate.”

“I should kill you for what you did.”

“You won’t.”

James stayed silent a moment. “Who’s your friend?” He gestured to the man fidgeting beside him. 

“He doesn’t matter.”

The other man, hanging his head, let out a whimper. 

“That’s good to know. See, unlike you, all my men matter to me. But I could spread this guy’s brains out on the ground, and you wouldn’t even care.” James approached the whimpering man and knelt down beside him. “Feels awful, don’t it? To hear him say that. You don’t even _matter.”_ The man choked out a sob, and James slapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re makin’ your boss look bad.”

“I…” his words came out broken, “I don’t wanna die.”

“Is that all?” James feigned surprise, “That’s all you got? That’s all you’re afraid of? You don’t wanna die?” He turned to look back at the rest of them, grinning almost maniacally. “You hear that? He don’t wanna die!” Laughing, James fell onto his buttox and put his arm around him. “Listen, buddy, do I got some news for you! We’re _all_ gonna die!” He covered his mouth, giggling and rocking back and forth. “But don’t you worry, pal. You ain’t gonna die tonight. Not if you play your cards right.”

Zemo gruffed out, “Enough with the mind games, Barnes.”

“You should be used to it by now.” With a groan, he got back to his feet as he walked away from them. “Nat, that’s what, three times this year?”

“Four.”

“Four times, Jesus Christ, I’m losin’ count.” James approached the others. “Pietro, what have these fine public servants caught for us this evening?”

The police officers remained stoic, but Pietro faltered. “Perhaps you should take a look for yourself, James.”

He turned to Natasha. “You wanna do the honors, doll?”

Her jaw set, it was as if they exchanged unspoken words before she crossed to the covered carriage. She threw open the back cover and held it open for a moment before slowly, gently returning it to its place. As she walked back, her demeanor struck Steve with worry. She cleared her throat, “Seven women, three men.” She blinked, keeping her eyes on the ground. “Two children, a boy and a girl.”

James stared at her in disbelief, and then turned his attention back to Pietro. “You’ve got their badge numbers?”

“Yes, sir.”

He addressed the officers, “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We’ll see that you’re compensated, double the norm.”

The men nodded, mounted their horses, and began to leave as Zemo spoke up, “Poppy is but a commodity, _Master Barnes._ Johann will not be pleased if you take this one from him.”

James ignored him. “Nat, how much are they worth?”

“Here?” She furrowed her brow. “In Port Pleasant?”

“Ballpark it.”

She shrugged, “Four, five hundred for the men? A grand for the women, maybe.”

“And the children?”

Natasha shook her head, and then stilled. She nearly whispered, “The highest bidder.”

James took out another cigarette, lit it, and then let his head fall back as he blew out a stream of smoke. “Ya know, Zemo, I’d heard whispers that this kinda shit was goin’ on. I figured there had to be some truth to it, but this is a new low, even for Schmidt.”

“And who are you to judge, Master Barnes? We’re all criminals.”

Heinrich’s words shook something within Steve. Up until now, his time in Port Pleasant felt almost surreal, like he was only a spectator. Somehow, he’d mostly been able to remove himself from the situation, to fall back on the reassurance that he was only following orders without thinking or feeling too much. His conversations with Pierce, Sam, and the others left him with doubts, but like Natasha had said, ‘Sometimes, It’s easy to turn a blind eye when you think you’ve got a good reason to.’ However, when all was said and done, James, Natasha, Winifred and the others were still criminals — all of them; and perhaps this meant that Steve was as well. 

“Mr. Rogers?” James’ voice brought him from his thoughts. “Kill him.”

Steve hesitated. The utter hatred in James’ eyes was almost terrifying, but more than anything, he looked wounded. He couldn’t bring himself to move a muscle. He wanted a way out, an escape or an excuse; he wanted James to take back the order, but more than anything, he wanted to obey it. The notion almost panicked him. In Steve’s view, Heinrich certainly deserved to die for such an inhuman offense, but was it really their place to put him to justice?

Regardless, he was only following orders. Steve took a deep, calming breath and, slowly, began to reach for his pistol. 

“Wait,” Natasha stopped him.

“Do it,” James told him. 

“Bucky.” Natasha stepped in front of James and put a hand on his chest, whispering into his ear. 

James’ expression became more livid at first, but then softened into what seemed almost like guilt. He pursed his lips, nodded as she backed away from him, and while he kept his head up, his eyes stayed locked on the ground. 

“Pietro,” Natasha directed him to Zemo’s carriage, “take them to Bao Xiang in the Southern Slums. She’ll see that they’re taken of.”

As Pietro climbed onto the carriage and riled the horses, Zemo laughed, “You’re such a weakling, Master Barnes. It’s a shame, you show so much promise on your own. You might even be worthy of your station if you didn’t lend your ear to your pathetic mother and that treasonous whore.”

Natasha turned on him. “Speak easy, son,” she warned, “you’re not the first man I’ve had on his knees.”

“How quickly you forget when we had you on yours.”

James spoke up, “We remember.” He walked over to Zemo and knelt down, slowly, in front of him, face to face. ”Only take heed to thyself, and keep thy soul diligently,” James prodded at Zemo’s chest and continued with a sinister reverence, “lest thou forget the things which thine eyes have seen, and lest they depart from thy heart all the days of thy life.”

Chuckling, Zemo shook his head away and then returned his gaze. “Does God comfort you, Master Barnes?”

James stood up and began walking back towards Steve and Natasha with a smirk on his face. 

He called after him, “Does He bring you peace at night when you remember how she screamed?”

Immediately, James stopped, and the color drained from his face. His lips parted, and his eyes widened like he was in a daze. He turned his head to Steve, and then crossed towards him with a careful gait. First looking Steve in the face when he reached him, he then pulled Steve’s tux jacket to the side and took his pistol from its holster. Steve didn’t stop him. Crossing back in a heartbeat, James lifted the gun to Zemo’s head and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote much of this chapter and unfortunately it only grew as I did so. I'm also rewriting the next chapter before I post it, so again, no ETA on an update (but it's coming). Thanks again to all who are reading this! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Other notes:
> 
> The song sung by Wanda, "It Had To Be You," was written by Isham Jones and Gus Kahn in 1924. It has been re-recorded by various artists over the years, and many versions are available on YouTube. 
> 
> Bucky makes the comment, "This ain't New Guinea," when clarifying that he's only ever had female escorts. According to Wikipedia, homosexuality was far from problematic in New Guinea up until the middle of the twentieth century when (shocker) Christianity was introduced. 
> 
> Because this fic takes place in an alternate universe (albeit with a 1920's inspired setting), no specific date will ever be given. However, the US Pledge of Allegiance recited in this chapter was first written and published in 1892 by Francis Bellamy (who also happened to be a socialist) and remained "The Pledge" until it was first changed in 1923. 
> 
> While a few different terms were used for homosexuals in the early twentieth century, I felt "sexual invert" was the most appropriate for this fic because, while it was never a slur (from what I've been able to glean), it does sound like one.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this over a year ago and... stopped. But I'm picking it back up now. I won't promise regular updates, but I'm a little over 30k in now and we'll just see. :) Thank you for reading, and please let me know if I need to tag anything!


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